23 ~ Audience participation!

Greetings.  It’s been a week of firsts here along the creek bank, mainly as things burst from the garden on the heels of some hot weather.  I picked and ate my first-of-the-year tomato, cucumber, broccoli, cauliflower, fennel and raspberries (and ate probably the last of the season’s asparagus and peapods; it was a week of transition in the garden, of passing the torch). On a beautiful morning last Tuesday, before the day’s heat descended, I also caught my first-ever homegrown, Iowa County star-spangled water miracle: a brook trout, in fact four of them, from a stream near Spring Green, nearly within sight of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Taliesen (alas, unfortunately for me, but not the trout, I had to release them all; on this particular stream it’s catch-and-release only for brookies).  I also got my first haircut in six months(!).  The last time I went that long without shears to my head I was probably still crawling.

Also this week I picked the season’s first blackcaps (small, delectable wild black raspberries), and put a handful into the freezer for starters.  My late, great neighbor, Jerome, a retired widower farmer who passed away a couple of years ago, used to tell me stories about growing up around here on a farm.  I’ll wager his family didn’t go to the grocery store much, either. 

“In summer, Ma used to send us kids out to pick blackcaps”, he recounted once, “and some years she’d can 100 pints.”   My God, I can barely conceive of the thorn-scratched, deerfly-harassed effort required to collect 100 pints (47 liters) of blackcaps, no matter how many kids in the family (and you can be sure they found more than that, with the ‘evaporation’ through eating during their pick).  I’ll praise Allah if I get one pint into the freezer.

Still, Jerome and his brothers and sisters probably enjoyed this seasonal ritual – an excuse to be in the woods, away from the routine chores of the farm, and the satisfaction that kids get from contributing something special to the family.  In fact, for all of us, there are few richer sources of contentment than contributing to something greater than ourselves, of which we are also part.

Although this is a season of plenty, and my canning shelves are slowly starting to refill (including a first attempt at pickled peapods), at some point I may need to return to the grocery store for some staples (but not yet for cheese:  this week I made the blessed swap with my friends at Bleu Mont Dairy, Willi, Kitas and Inea - $50 worth of their stellar cheese for a jar of birch syrup). 

I’ve been thinking about essential groceries I would buy (assuming I can’t barter for them), and have some ideas. I’d also like to hear yours.  What would you shop for?

Imagine you were headed to a desert or tropical island (boarding the S.S. Minnow, with a crystal ball, for that three hour tour…).  Or, even more bizarrely, were facing, say, an unprecedented global pandemic that would keep you housebound for months. You have one chance to grocery shop first, what would you buy? Think of three to five essentials, maximum, and share your personal list.  Post it in the Comments section below (or if you prefer, email it to me at hawkcall@yahoo.com). Please also feel free to add some notes on why you chose a particular item. 

From your responses, dear readers, we’ll compile a Bird in the Bush list of larder essentials. I’ll summarize and post it, then consult it if and when I return to the church of stacked shelves.

A summer recipe

I’ve been making kombucha with juice pressed from strawberries and raspberries, and, inspired by the Mongol horde of mint that threatens to overrun my herb garden, came up with this delicious summer drink: 

Put some fresh mint leaves in the bottom of large glass.

Pound them gently with the end of a wooden spoon.

Add ice.

Fill the glass with your favorite fruit-flavored kombucha, and a shot of Cointreau (or Grand Marnier; both optional, of course – great, too, with just the kombucha).

Enjoy, smile.

It’s a sublime refresher after a hot and sweaty afternoon in the garden. I went to Kettle Moraine high school, KM, for a couple of years, and so I’ll name the drink in honor of my (partial) alma mater: the K[ombucha] M[int].